Page 23 of Fifty-Fifty

A few minutes passed before she saw him.

Medium height. Grey hair in a side parting. A tuxedo beneath a cashmere overcoat and scarf. He was talking to two elderly women, and held out an arm

for each of them as he escorted them down the steps. His name was Hal Cohen.

For fifteen years he had been her father’s political strategist, mayoral campaign manager, chief fundraiser, and accomplice.

As they reached the bottom of the steps, the ladies thanked Hal.

She stood up, quite suddenly. Fast enough to catch his eye.

When Hal saw her, his smile faded. He quickly returned it to his face as he waved goodbye to the ladies who made their way to the crosswalk. He stood there for a moment, his hands in his coat pockets. His breath misting in the night air as he contemplated what to do next.

He bowed his head, and casually made his way over.

‘Did you have an enjoyable evening?’ she said.

‘It was a fundraiser for a friend. Enjoyment wasn’t on the menu,’ said Hal. He placed a hand on her shoulder, in a paternal fashion, and said, ‘I’m real sorry about your dad, kiddo.’

That’s what he always called her: kiddo. When Hal began to help her father into political office, he came to the house to talk to him, meet her mother, meet the family; make sure there were no skeletons in the closet. He said if there were skeletons, he would need to know so he could bury the whole closet at the bottom of the East River.

‘Thanks. He always liked you. Said you could fix anything. I need to talk to you, Hal,’ she said.

‘Look, I’m very sorry about what happened to your father. Frank didn’t deserve that, but—’

‘That is what I need to talk about. I don’t have time to wait. It has to be now.

Hal, you need to know I didn’t kill my father.’

He sighed, nodded, and gestured to a sleek BMW parked on the opposite side of the street. They made their way to the car in silence. She got into the passenger seat, he drove.

‘I’ll take you home. Talk all you want,’ he said.

She said nothing.

‘You wanted to talk, let’s talk,’ he said.

Leaning over toward the driver’s seat, she placed her hand on his thigh. He tensed, and she whispered, ‘I know you record everything in this car. My father told me. We can talk in my apartment.’

She withdrew to her side of the car and placed her hands in her lap. Hal simply nodded, and said, ‘Okay.’

She liked the feeling when Hal tensed. It made her feel powerful. Her hand had been close to the top of his thigh as she had leaned in to bring her lips to his ear. It was overly familiar, and yet she knew Hal would’ve gotten a kick out of a young woman putting her hands on him.

They drove in silence until he arrived outside her building and parked across the street. The building was like many on this side of Manhattan, elegant, grand, but time was beginning to take its toll. A security camera in the lobby hadn’t worked in weeks. There was little crime in this part of town, so it wasn’t a priority. As long as the old elevator ran that was all that mattered.

The elevator doors opened and she led him to her apartment, the largest on this floor. Last door on the left at the end of the corridor. Inside, a small hallway led them to a dining table and open-plan kitchen beyond.

‘Careful you don’t trip on the shopping,’ she said, pointing to a pile of unopened packages sitting beside the door. Hal stepped past them, following her.

She dropped her keys on the table, took off her ballcap and threw it on the couch across the room as she made her way into the kitchen. Filling a glass of water from the fridge, she said, ‘Do you want something to drink?’

Shaking his head, Hal leaned on the back of a dining chair.

‘So, let’s talk,’ he said.

‘Okay, do you want to sit down?’ she said.

‘No offence, but I have somewhere I’ve got to be. And, I’ll be honest, I’m a little uncomfortable. I know you’re on bail, I know you could face a trial along with your sister and I could be called as a witness.’